


The Pantomime Job

by mific



Category: Leverage
Genre: Community: femslash11, F/F, Peter Pan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've got the perfect part for you, kiddo: Peter Pan."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pantomime Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Apatheia_Jane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apatheia_Jane/gifts).



> Written for the [femslash11](http://femslash11.dreamwidth.org/) fic exchange.
> 
> Warning: Mention of a neglected and abusive childhood. Also, in places this skates close to ageplay, although there's no overt kink.
> 
> Notes: I know art isn't usually part of the deal, but I couldn't resist. There are some lines in the fic from the play _Peter Pan_ , by J. M. Barrie, but it should be fairly obvious which those are, and they're in italics. This is a transformative work, and I don't own the characters.

****

 

================

  
"A theatre troupe?" Nate pursed his lips, frowning.

Sophie leaned forward, using all her skills to sell the plan. "The mark, this Berenger guy – Alec says he's nuts about everything British, and he loves the theatre. So we take a play to him, right there at his country estate. A pantomime. It's our best way in."

"But we're not actors, Sophie." Eliot, looking doubtful.

"I'm a _grifter_ , Eliot, _and_ an actor," Sophie retorted, annoyed.

"Matter of opinion," muttered Hardison _sotto voce_.

Sophie shot him a glare. Hardison dropped his eyes to his laptop, typing nervously. "Anyway," she brushed the doubters aside, "it's _panto_ , there's barely any acting required."

"A pantomime?" asked Eliot, quirking an eyebrow. "Like a kid's play?"

"Yes," said Sophie, leaning in again, excited. "Berenger's a big time philanthropist, remember? He puts on shows to raise money for charities like children's hospitals and orphanages. He'll eat up a pantomime if we let him know we're touring. He's even got a stage right there in the mansion. It'll be perfect – lots of kids in the audience, plenty of chaos."

"I'd like to do something for kids." It was Parker, looking interested.

 _Atta girl_ , thought Sophie. "You're going to love it," she assured Parker, grinning. "I've got the perfect part for you, kiddo: Peter Pan."

"Don't call me kiddo." Parker frowned. "Peter Pan? Who's Peter Pan?"

They all stared at her. _Jesus_ , thought Sophie, appalled yet again by how crappy Parker's childhood must have been.

Nate smiled carefully. "Ah, you never saw the movie, Parker? Disney movie?" Parker shook her head. Her shoulders had tensed up again.

"It was a play first," Sophie said quickly, "and a book. And it's also a pantomime – that's a really simple play, aimed at kids." Parker nodded cautiously, body language closed. "Peter Pan's the leader of the Lost Boys, Parker. He lives in Neverland and he doesn't grow up – he stays a kid. He's got a friend, Tinkerbell: she's a fairy."

"Sounds kind of boring," muttered Parker.

"There are pirates, and indians–the native American kind, not the vindaloo kind–and a crocodile that goes tick-tock-tick-tock because he swallowed Captain Hook's–the pirate captain's–watch," offered Sophie, breathless, almost wheedling. Damn it, she needed Parker on board.

Parker looked up. "Pirates? And indians?"

Sophie nodded. "And Peter Pan flies, so you'd get to use the harness."

Parker brightened. "Yeah? I get to fly? Cool." They beamed at each other.

"I'll teach you your lines, Parker, you'll pick it up in no time," Sophie assured her. She turned back to Nate. I'll play Captain Hook, I've done that part before. The rest of you can be our stage crew." She looked back around the table. "Nate'll be our manager and front of house, Hardison can do sound and lighting, Eliot can be stage manager and rig Parker's harness. I'll need to recruit half a dozen other actors for the rest of the parts, but they can double- and triple-up to play the Darling children, lost boys, pirates and indians, etc. And while we've got everyone's attention on-stage, Nate and Eliot can slip off and find the painting."

"I hacked into detailed schematics for the mansion," confirmed Hardison. "It's pretty obvious where the gallery is from the security system configuration. Once I'm into the house's system I'll be able to shut down the alarms and you can get in and locate the stolen Rembrandt."

"We'll be able to get you access to the mansion's systems so you can control the lights and sound for the production," agreed Sophie, nodding.

"Yeah, I can see where he's got this theatre room wired in. They'll have some sort of firewall around it to isolate those electronics from the main security areas of the house, though."

Nate looked at Hardison. "You can crack that, right?"

"Please, a two-bit set-up like this? It's not exactly a Steranko." He grinned. "I could crack it with both hands duct taped behind my back." Parker shot him a hooded, speculative look and Hardison flushed.

"Right," said Nate decisively. "Thanks, Sophie, we have a plan. We get in using the pantomime as cover, Sophie and Parker keep them distracted while Hardison cracks the system, and Eliot and I get the painting. We return it to the Greenbergs and that's one more Jewish artwork stolen by the Nazis returned to its original owners. We're sure about the Greenbergs, Hardison? They checked out?"

"Yeah, they're kosher." Hardison smirked. "Get it? Kosher?" Sophie rolled her eyes. Parker and Eliot looked blank.

Nate sighed and rubbed his eyebrow. "Okay team, let's do it."

================

  
"Why am I playing a boy? Peter Pan's a boy, isn't he?" Parker had dutifully watched the Disney movie and the others had been packed off by Sophie so that they could have a coaching session without Eliot staring and Hardison cracking wise.

"It's a pantomime thing, a tradition." Parker looked blank and Sophie realized that she probably hadn't been raised with any real traditions, unless getting soused and whaling on the kids was a tradition. "I play a boy, too – well, a man, a pirate. Captain Hook. Here, start again from this bit." Sophie pointed at the script.

 _"PETER: What is your name?"_

"Ah, no Parker, don't read the ' _PETER'_ bit out – that's to tell us who's speaking."

"Oh, okay," said Parker, nodding seriously. _"What is your name?"_

 _"Wendy Moira Angela Darling,"_ read Sophie. _"What is yours?"_

 _"Peter Pan."_ Parker paused, brows drawn together. "It says here Peter thinks it's 'lamentably brief'. So it's too brief? But he's got two names. How many names do you have, Sophie?"

"I…" Sophie paused, considering. "It depends which name I'm using. But I was born with a middle name, so I guess I have three names"

"Huh," said Parker. "I've only got one name. That's not normal, is it? It's worse than Peter Pan."

"Simplicity can be a good thing," said Sophie somewhat desperately. "Shall we press on?" she suggested, feeling that they were circling some existential black hole symbolized by Parker's name-impoverishment.

They managed several lines until the one about Peter's address being _"Second to the right and then straight on till morning."_

 _"What a funny address!"_ Sophie responded, with a sinking feeling. Parker was frowning again.

 _"No, it isn't,"_ Parker read slowly. She looked up. "I used to feel like that when I'd boosted a car. 'Straight on till morning'. I miss that."

Sophie bit her lip – it was a flight-plan, not an address. _"I mean, is that what they put on the letters?"_

 _"Don't get any letters."_ Parker was looking rather sullen now.

Hell, Sophie thought, she probably _didn't_ get any letters. Who did she have except the team, and they saw her daily; they weren't going to write to her. Sophie resolved to send Parker a postcard. _"But your mother gets letters?"_ Sophie continued reluctantly, with a sense of impending doom.

 _"Don't have a mother."_ Parker was back to the closed-in stance again, muttering her lines.

 _"Peter!"_ Sophie read the stage directions with a sinking feeling. _(She leaps out of bed to put her arms round him, but he draws back; he does not know why, but he knows he must draw back.)_ She made a vague gesture to put a hand on Parker's tense shoulder, but Parker flinched away, arms crossed.

 _"You mustn't touch me."_

 _"Why?"_ That thing was happening, that thing that hardly ever happened to Sophie in her serious acting. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she shivered: they were getting caught up, the barrier between the play and reality dissolving.

 _"No one must ever touch me."_ Parker still had her arms wrapped around herself, body language younger, almost childlike, one foot scuffling the carpet.

 _"Why?"_   
  
_"I don't know." (He is never touched by anyone in the play.)_

And okay, this was maybe not such a brilliant idea, to have Parker play Peter Pan. Honestly, Sophie hadn't read the damn play for years, but she didn't remember all these nuances from the panto she'd been in as an ingénue. _"No wonder you were crying,"_ Sophie said, but Parker never cried. Possibly _couldn't_ cry.

Parker stuck her chin out, pouting a little. _"I wasn't crying. But I can't get my shadow to stick on."_

Sophie was in dire need of a coffee. "That was great, Parker. Shall we take a short break?" Jesus: this was going to be harder than she'd imagined.

================

  
They had to extend the timeframe of the plan to fit in extra rehearsals. Sophie directed. She was already directing Parker, and compared to Parker the rest of the cast were a cakewalk. She'd recruited a bunch of drama students keen for experience rather than payment, which was just as well, as the Greenbergs had offered a recovery fee, but there wasn't going to be a big haul to divvy up when the job was done. Amazing, really, that Parker was going along with it, but she was obsessed with the play, now, determined to see it through.

They'd run into a few more glitches with the script. The language really was very archaic, and there was a strange passage where someone called "OMNES" had lines. In the end, Sophie had had to get Hardison to look it up on the net, and apparently it just meant "all", the whole cast.

Parker had been reading "OMNES". _"What we need is just a nice motherly person."_ Parker'd declaimed on behalf of the Lost Boys, nodding firmly for emphasis.

 _"Oh dear, I feel that is just exactly what I am,"_ Sophie'd replied, reading Wendy, worried by the overly intense shine in Parker's eyes.

 _"It is, it is,"_ read Parker happily, _"we saw it at once!"_

Sophie'd swallowed. _"Very well then, I will do my best." (In their glee they go dancing obstreperously round the little house, and she sees she must be firm with them as well as kind.) "Come inside at once, you naughty children, I am sure your feet are damp. And before I put you to bed I have just time to finish the story of Cinderella."_

Parker had responded to that with outright glee, insisting they curl up together on the couch and making Sophie recite the story of Cinderella. She'd ended up stroking Parker's hair, against all her better judgement.

After that, she'd gone to see Hardison. "Alec," she began, sidling up to him, "we need to talk."

"Hmmm?" No way he was listening, hands flying across the keyboard, eyes glued to the screen.

Sophie inserted a hand between his face and the VDU. "Helloo? Earth to Hardison?"

"Huh?" He turned and frowned at her.

"This play you printed off for us, Peter Pan. Where did you get it?"

"I didn't breach copyright, if that's what you mean. It's free on the net – there are several transcripts out there. It's the original, dates back to 1904."

"So it's _not_ the pantomime?"

Hardison looked a little shifty. "Well…no. The pantomime version wasn't as available – we'd have had to pay a fee. And I figured they were basically the same thing, right? Both plays, I mean, kinda like Windows 2002 and Windows XP."

Sophie glared at him. "They're totally different! This is an actual serious _play_ , Alec, not a brief slapstick romp. It's taking forever to rehearse and it's…"

But she couldn't explain how it was affecting Parker. They were cast members now and that loyalty trumped the team. Parker had, in the role of Peter Pan, let Sophie see the hurt child inside the confident thief. Talk about the Lost Boys; Parker was the Lost Girl made flesh. Sophie was just glad someone else would be playing the role of Wendy on the night; she didn't think she could have handled that.

Hardison was staring at her, waiting for an explanation. "It's like I wanted _Pacman_ and you've given me _World of Warcraft!"_ she finished, frustrated.

Alec's eyes widened. "Oh wow, Soph." He looked genuinely contrite. "Bummer."

================

  
 _"Put up your swords, boys. This man is mine!"_ yelled Parker, flying in from stage left on the harness and wire that Eliot had helped her rig. They'd rented a down-at-heel suburban theatre for the dress rehearsal and Sophie could see Eliot, who'd also choreographed the fight scenes, wincing in the wings as Parker waved her sword dangerously.

Sophie bared her teeth and tried to ignore the ridiculous fake mustache, which itched. _"So, Pan, this is all your doing!"_ she trumpeted.

 _"Ay, James Hook, it is all my doing!"_ spat Parker, circling like a prowling cat.

 _"Proud and insolent youth, prepare to meet thy doom!"_ intoned Sophie, twirling a corner of her mustache and swirling her braid-edged coat dramatically as she turned. She thought she looked pretty damn good in the costume: the floor-length red velvet coat had been a real find at that fancy-dress place.

 _"Dark and sinister man, have at thee!" cried_ Parker and with a clash of swords they were away, dueling across the stage, following the moves Eliot had drilled into them over endless hours of practice. Sophie's heavy outfit hampered her a little, but Parker was Pan to the life, all lithe green limbs and flashing rapier, sometimes airborne as Eliot operated pulleys and guy-wires. Hardison was hard pressed to keep the spots on them both as they cut and thrust.

It ended as scripted, with Hook disarmed by the nimble Peter. The actors playing the Lost Boys chorused: _"Now, Peter, now!"_ and Peter–Parker–presented the hilt of the sword to his enemy in an overblown show of bravado.

Sophie reared back, feigning awe. No fear of overacting in this stew of a play, at least. _"'Tis some fiend fighting me! Pan, who and what art thou?"_

 _"I'm youth, I'm joy, I'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg!"_ yelled Parker, high as a kite and turning a somersault in the harness, just because she could.

Eliot rolled his eyes but Sophie felt a fierce exultation to see Parker so transported by the play, stealing back a little of her childhood. She grinned triumphantly and raised her sword. _"To it again!"_ she cried as they joined swords once more.

================

  
The final performance was an unqualified success. Berenger was a pompous dick, but his staff had arranged to have a horde of kids bussed in, none of whom had ever seen live theatre before. Sophie had written some pantomime details into the script so there was plenty of audience participation, with giggling, shrieks and shouted warnings, and the children assuring Tinkerbell that yes, they _did_ believe in fairies, so as to revive her.

Tinkerbell was a holographic projection run by Hardison, who cracked the mansion's security in record time in between faking canon sound-effects and making wavy blue lights for the mermaids' grotto. After Parker's duel with Hook–another tour de force, even better than at the dress–when the harness was no longer needed, Eliot and Nate slipped away and stole the Rembrandt, with a minimum of fuss. It was easily concealed in the props and trappings of the troupe, and Berenger's butler even paid them quite handsomely for the performance.

All in all, it was the most fun she'd had in the theatre in years, Sophie reflected. She was back at her own place, tired but satisfied, cleaning off the last of the mustache gum in front of her bathroom mirror after a shower. Sad to see it end but a con was a con: you had to let them go once they'd run their course.

Sophie sighed; she was going to miss the daily sessions running lines with Parker, though. She'd gotten pretty used to Parker's weird, intense manner, her oddly nuanced Pan. She was perfect for the part, really: amoral, feral, and damaged in just the same ways.

A soft noise from the bedroom, and Parker was leaning in the doorway, looking smug.

"Right," said Sophie, rinsing her face and drying it on a towel. "I won't ask how you got in."

Parker smirked. "Didn't even need the harness."

Sophie considered asking why she was here, but Parker was still riding the wave of the performance, her eyes blown, and Sophie remembered how that went. "C'mon," she said, a smile quirking her mouth, "I think we need a drink." She got herself a gin and tonic and raised an eyebrow at Parker. "Just coke," Parker said, bouncing on the old leather couch then sprawling, arms splayed out across the back.

Sophie curled up in the corner, legs tucked demurely under her because all she had on under her robe was an oversized t-shirt, and sipped her drink. Parker tipped her head back and downed the coke in one rippling swallow, then wiped her mouth appreciatively. "Thanks. Thirsty."

"You earned it." Sophie raised her glass. "Here's to your theatrical debut. You were great, Parker, really great. A fine Peter Pan."

"I was, wasn't I!" Parker beamed, slinking down the couch and hunkering in front of Sophie, sitting on her folded knees.

She really was amazingly bendy, thought Sophie, then realized that she was staring at Parker's thighs in their tight black leggings. She coughed, flushing slightly, and took another sip of the G&T, meeting Parker's amused gaze across the rim of the glass.

"You were pretty good, too," said Parker magnanimously. She reached out and lifted the glass from Sophie's fingers, taking a drink and wrinkling her nose comically. "Ew." She deposited the glass on the coffee table and leaned in, elbows bracketing Sophie's face and her hands twined in Sophie's hair. "And you were totally hot, in that pirate outfit. I like pirates."

And with that, she leaned in for the kiss, slithering into Sophie's lap as her tongue slid into Sophie's mouth. Someone groaned, and Sophie was pretty sure that it was her because there seemed to be an electrical connection from their mouths to her breasts, from Parker's hands in her hair down her spine to where heat pooled between her legs.

Sophie's arms came up around Parker but she knew not to hold on too tightly, just stroking, caressing the skin-tight black cat suit across her back and down her sides. "Parker, I–" she gasped, coming up for air while Parker transferred her attentions to the swell of Sophie's throat, sucking on her collar-bone and nuzzling behind her ear. "Christ, oh god."

Parker moved against her, hips rolling lasciviously and Sophie squirmed, heat and wetness and want overwhelming her, gripping Parker's waist as she tried to pull her down and get some pressure, god, anything. Parker kissed her again, lips and tongue, mouth slick and hot, and her hand slipped in between Sophie's legs where she needed it so badly, long fingers filling her, stroking her, as Sophie moaned into Parker's mouth and thrust, spreading her thighs, hips jerking and wanton as Parker opened her up and took whatever she wanted.

It took some time for Sophie to recover herself enough to speak, and she came to with Parker nestled in her lap, head on Sophie's breasts and arms around her waist. "Sweetheart, let me–" tried Sophie, but Parker burrowed in, happy apparently just to hold and be held.

"You don't want?" whispered Sophie, stroking her hair and the back of her neck.

Parker was almost purring, a rough hum against Sophie's skin. "I'm good," she murmured, voice drowsy and content, and then, "just a nice motherly person". Sophie stiffened slightly, but Parker snaked out her tongue and lazily licked a nipple, so okay, whatever worked, fuck it, Sophie was good with that. "Nice motherly pirate," muttered Parker, and yawned, snickering softly until her breathing quieted into sleep.

And hell, thought Sophie, maybe she wouldn't take the pirate costume back to that fancy dress place in the morning. She _was_ a thief, after all.

 

 _– the end –_

 _  
_


End file.
